


It was Heaven a Moment Ago

by whenshewrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Car Accidents, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Elements from The Vow, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Stiles Stilinski Forgets, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25587505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: "You were in a car accident, Stiles. You’re in the hospital.”Stiles’s heart nearly stopped. He tensed, looking around, and realized she was right. He was in a hospital gown, surrounded by white walls, and— and—“Where’s my dad?”“He’s on a shift,” Melissa said gently. “Stiles, you’ve been out for nearly a day. I’ll have Derek call and tell him to come back, okay?”“Derek?”The man stepped forward and instantly, Stiles was shying back. In a second, the man had frozen where he stood, an expression of surprise flitting across his face. He wasn’t a nurse, Stiles could tell that much. He wasn’t anyone that Stiles recognized. Slowly, he looked back at Melissa.“Who’s Derek?”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 38
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter 1

It was the sound of beeping that brought Stiles back to the land of the living.

The sound of quiet murmurs next to his ear. A hand wrapped around his own, squeezing tight. There was a man sitting right next to him, a tube taped to his arm, and Stiles was pretty sure something was wrong.

Something was _wrong._

He was awake in a second, yanking his hand back with a yelp. Only to groan and drop his head into his hands, pain pounding through his skull. There was a beeping noise in the air, a man sitting at his side, and Stiles couldn’t even think straight.

His head hurt. His chest was too tight.

He couldn’t _breathe._

Then suddenly, there was a woman at his side. A face that he recognized— curly hair, soft brown eyes, a worried smile. She took his hand, squeezing gently, and Stiles felt the pressure building up in his chest ebb away a little.

“Stiles,” she said. “Stiles, you’re okay. Take a deep breath for me, alright? You’re okay.”

“What happened?”

Melissa hesitated, glancing back at the man. He was standing now and watched Stiles with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Stiles felt his throat constricting again and slowly, Melissa turned back toward him, tracing gentle fingers over the side of his face. 

“You were in a car accident, Stiles. You’re in the hospital.”

Stiles’s heart nearly stopped. He tensed, looking around, and realized she was right. He was in a hospital gown, surrounded by white walls, and— and—

“Where’s my dad?”

“He’s on a shift,” Melissa said gently. “Stiles, you’ve been out for nearly a day. I’ll have Derek call and tell him to come back, okay?”

“Derek?”

The man stepped forward and instantly, Stiles was shying back. In a second, the man had frozen where he stood, an expression of surprise flitting across his face. He wasn’t a nurse, Stiles could tell that much. He wasn’t anyone that Stiles recognized. Slowly, he looked back at Melissa.

“Who’s Derek?”

Her eyes widened. The face of the man standing behind her dropped.

And something was _wrong._

-

They took him through a series of different tests. Asking who he was, what he remembered. Stiles could recite everything up until the car crash— except he couldn’t. That’s what they told him, anyway, when Stiles tried to go into his Sophomore year of high school, everything went blank, and then they said that was all five years ago.

Five years ago.

Stiles thought maybe he was losing his mind.

There was this one memory that stayed right out of his grasp. One of grabbing Scott by the hoodie and hauling him off into the woods. There were promises of excitement and adventure on his tongue, even though Stiles couldn’t remember why.

The man with the stubble stayed ten feet away from him the entire time.

Stiles didn’t know why.

Then Scott showed up an hour into the questioning and Stiles had never been more relieved to see anyone else in his life. 

“Scotty!”

In a second, he was pulling the boy close, regardless of the bruises that marred his side. Scott stiffened in surprise before hugging him back, careful fingers tracing over the back of Stiles’s neck. It was probably the strangest hug his best friend had given him, but Stiles figured he was fine with taking it. He was just happy to see a familiar face.

But when he pulled back, he realized Scott wasn’t exactly as familiar as he remembered.

Because Stiles didn’t remember the last time Scott had actual muscles. His floppy hair was gone and there was a tattoo circling around his upper arm. Stiles gaped, tracing a finger over it, and Scott blushed, glancing over his shoulder.

“Derek wouldn’t tell me anything. What happened?”

Stiles stiffened at the name and looked over his shoulder too. The stubbled man— Derek— stood a few feet away with his arms folded over his chest. He looked a little murderous. Stiles swallowed hard.

“I, uh, was in an accident. That’s what your mom says at least.”

“Wait, you don’t remember it?”

Suddenly, Stiles’s throat was dry. He studied the boy in front of him and realized Scott wasn’t really a boy anymore. He was basically a man. His jawline was sharper, his eyes were missing their usual puppyish glow. He looked a lot more mature and almost a little sad. A little tired.

“Scott, I—”

Suddenly, Melissa was at his side. She took Scott’s arm and led him toward the furthest corner, saying things Stiles couldn’t catch. Stiles stared for a moment and then sunk down onto the edge of his hospital bed in surrender, the hollow feeling from earlier returning to his chest.

He watched Scott straighten. Brown eyes snapped over and quickly looked away. Then they went to the man— to Derek— before turning back toward Melissa.

Stiles resisted the urge to curl up in a ball.

Unconsciously, he glanced down at his fingers. His mind went through the motions before he even caught himself doing it, counting them one by one. And the moment Stiles realized what he was doing, he blinked and shook his head. But then he counted them again anyway.

It made him relax a little bit for some reason. He no longer felt like he was about to crumble into a million little pieces.

When he glanced back up, Derek was gone.

-

“He doesn’t remember anything.”

Derek nodded once, face tight. The Sheriff searched his face as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction. Like he thought Derek would break or something. But Derek had known from the moment Stiles looked at him and there was nothing— nothing— to his scent, that everything was wrong.

Stiles was wrong.

Where it was usually a second that was bright and full of color, Derek could only find the emptiness of grey. Stiles had looked at him like he was a stranger on the street, and he'd pulled away the second Derek had moved close. Like he was scared of him.

Five years, Melissa said. Stiles had lost five years.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” the Sheriff said again, searching Derek’s face. “Not graduating high school, not going out with Scott that first night. He doesn’t remember werewolves, Derek. The pack. Everything that has happened these past five years.”

“I know, sir.”

“He doesn’t remember you.”

It was like a blow to the stomach. Derek dropped his gaze, tightening his crossed arms across his chest as his fingers started to tremble. And he just nodded. Stiles didn’t know who he was. Stiles didn’t know _what_ he was.

“Melissa said they might not come back to him. Stiles— his memories might not come back to him, Derek.”

“I know, sir.”

“Scott doesn’t want to tell him what he’s missing.”

Derek kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor. He counted the tiles and traced the little lines between them with his eyes. Anything to distract himself from the ache gradually building up in his chest. 

Scott had already told him that. When the doctors had taken Stiles in to do more tests, the boy had pulled him aside and spilled everything. That he didn’t think they should tell Stiles a thing. That he'd never wanted to be a part of the supernatural in the first place. And they’d all faced so much pain in the past few years—

“Derek?”

“I know, sir.”

“Is that all you’re going to say, son?”

Derek clenched his jaw and didn’t answer. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend this was all a bad dream. He hadn’t texted Stiles, making sure he was going to get home okay. The idiot hadn’t checked his messages on the highway, taking the fastest route back to the Hale house.

He hadn’t been hit from the side so hard his jeep flipped twice.

“I don’t think there’s anything else to say.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

That question could’ve backed a million different answers. Was Derek going to tell him about all the pain he’d missed in the past? No. Was he going to tell him the number of times they’d both nearly died together? Never. Would he tell the boy that last night they’d slept curled around each other?

“Derek—”

“Scott’s right,” Derek said. _No._ “Stiles never asked to be dragged into this. He’s been hurt, sir. And not just tonight. He’s been kidnapped and tortured. He still wakes up at night screaming.”

The Sheriff flinched. Derek took a deep breath.

“Scott can tell him about his high school years. They had a good time together. He can tell him about how he’s now a student in the pre-FBI program at George Washington University. Stiles will be proud of himself.”

“But he can’t tell him anything about the pack.”

“They’re his best friends. That's all he needs to know.”

“And you?”

“I’m just the guy with the house that everyone lives in,” Derek said. “I can’t—”

“Derek.”

Derek swallowed hard. Slowly, he looked back up at the Sheriff. The man watched him with gentle eyes and Derek clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth gnashed. His eyes burned. His chest felt like it was caving in on itself and he was so determined to keep to his word, to keep his silence—

“Stiles deserves to know what you mean to him.”

His resolve shattered.

“I can’t be the one to do it,” Derek said, turning his face away. “When he doesn’t understand or believe it, I can’t be the one to see that.”

“I’ll do it, Derek.”

Derek didn’t say a word. A gentle hand laid on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Get yourself something to eat, son. Melissa told me you didn’t leave his room from the moment he came in.”

“I wanted to be there when he woke up.”

“You were there,” the Sheriff said gently. “You took care of him, Derek. Now you need to go take care of yourself.”

The last thing Derek wanted to do was take care of himself. Stiles was what mattered. Stiles and— and— well, Stiles didn’t even remember him. Stiles had no idea who the hell Derek was. And here he was, asking the Sheriff to ruin that.

“If he takes it badly—”

“Son,” the Sheriff said, cutting him off. “Go take care of yourself.”

Silently, Derek nodded. He passed Stiles’s room and couldn’t help but gaze in. The boy was laughing with Scott while the rest of the pack stood nervously a few feet away. Sometimes, Stiles’s eyes would flicker over to them and a bit of his smile would waver. But then Scott would say something else and that bright light would enter his eyes again.

Derek loved that light. He loved being the one to make it appear.

Suddenly, Stiles’s eyes snapped over to the doorway and the light faded. Dimmed away until it was nothing. The rest of the pack looked over too and the room went silent, but Derek’s gaze was fixed on Stiles. The dead look in his eyes. The lack of a smile on his face.

Derek had caused that. That was something Derek had done.

He stumbled backward and all but ran away.

-

“Have you spoken to Derek since you woke up?”

Stiles snapped back to reality mid-bite. His mind had been elsewhere ever since he’d been allowed to leave the hospital. Scott had done his best to explain things from the past few years, but none of it had seemed real. He’d introduced all of Stiles’s ‘friends’. People Stiles would never have pegged as wanting to be a part of his and Scott’s little ‘group’.

But there were some perks. Lydia was there, Jackson wasn’t. The boy was in London, she said, and Lydia had returned for the summer after spending four semesters at MIT. She was going to become the genius Stiles had always known she’d be. And she was even more gorgeous than ever.

Once more, Stiles was head over heels in love. But he'd never really fallen out of it, had he?

“Uh, sorry,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “I’m a little distracted.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, then quickly backtracked. “I mean no. Err, sort of. Derek, right. The big guy with the scary eyebrows. The weird one with the house?”

“You haven’t spoken to him.”

“I mean, he was there. Like there, _there._ Too much there. The guy gives off a little bit of a stalker vibe, don’t you think? I still can’t believe he hangs out with a bunch of teenagers. I mean... that’s a little odd, isn’t it? Should it not be?”

His dad didn’t say anything. Stiles tilted his head, studying the man’s face.

“You look like you know something I don’t.”

“Look, Stiles—”

“I mean, I know I’ve missed a lot,” Stiles said, waving a hand through the air. Then he swallowed hard, dropping it. “I know I’ve missed a lot, dad. Or I haven't missed a lot. But a lot is missing. And I’m sorry.”

“Stiles, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“It’s just a bit much,” Stiles said quietly. “You know? Between you, and Scott, and all these people I’m supposed to recognize but don’t. I can barely handle knowing it’s been five years. But everything else? I just… I might need a little bit of time. To process.”

His dad’s face was unreadable. Slowly, the man nodded. “I understand.”

“But I’ll do my best, pops. I promise.”

“I know that, Stiles.”

“I’m twenty-one,” Stiles said, grinning. But he didn’t feel it one bit. Not his smile, not his age. He felt like he’d just walked into an alternate reality with a life that didn’t belong to him. None of this was his. None of this belonged to him. “I’m, uh, twenty-one, dad.”

His dad’s eyes cracked.

And that night, he held him as Stiles cried.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek caught Stiles’s scent before he saw his face.

The boy showed up on the Hale house porch pale and fidgeting. Derek was at the door in a second, shooting the rest of the pack a red-eyed look when any one of them started to stand. Erica rolled her eyes but the rest of them stayed still and Derek opened the door so fast, Stiles startled back.

“Oh my god, dude. I didn’t even knock yet.”

“I caught your— I heard your car. Is that one of the police cruisers?”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder and chuckled weakly. “Uh, yeah, Roscoe’s kind of beat up at the moment so my dad’s letting me drive this around for now. I feel super fancy and everything. But he warned me if I even dare use the siren, he’ll know and ground me forever. Twenty-one or not.”

Derek could’ve grinned. But Stiles’s scent didn’t reflect his smile and Derek suddenly felt his heart stutter. The Sheriff had told him. The Sheriff said he would tell him. Had the Sheriff told him?

“Have you talked to your dad?”

The boy blinked at him and then slowly nodded. Derek’s heart skipped a beat and he glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the rest of the pack, who were clearly listening in, before pulling himself out onto the porch and closing the door firmly behind him.

Stiles’s eyes widened. “Dude?”

“How do you feel?”

“Uh... a little confused, I guess,” Stiles said, still giving him a strange look. “I mean, it’s all so new. Different. And I feel like it’s a little wrong too, right?”

It felt like Derek had been punched in the stomach. He stared for a moment before forcing himself to nod. “I guess.”

“I mean, none of it’s right. It’s not the life I could’ve seen and I don’t think it’s the life I wanted. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. Stuff could come back and it could all make sense eventually. I just… kind of hate it. You know?”

Derek’s throat was tight. He could barely nod again. 

“I guess I’m a little overwhelmed,” Stiles said shakily, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I think my dad could tell. I just kind of hoped, uh... Scott’s here, right? And Lydia?”

“They’re always here,” Derek said, voice hollow. Stiles’s face brightened.

“Oh, that’s great!”

Derek moved aside as Stiles ducked around him, pushing into the house. For a moment, he didn’t know how to feel. What to think. It was like whiplash from how his heart had leaped at seeing Stiles’s face to how suddenly it had plunged.

He swallowed hard and then slowly followed him inside.

The rest of the pack was staring at him, but Derek could meet a single gaze. His eyes stayed fixed on Stiles. Stiles, who rushed over to Scott the moment he spotted him. Stiles, who eyed Lydia and instantly brightened when she offered a red-lipped smile in his direction.

Stiles. Stiles, who thought he was wrong. 

Who thought they were wrong.

Derek swallowed hard. Just like yesterday, his fingers were trembling.

The rest of the pack watched apprehensively as Derek moved over and sank back down into his chair. He grabbed his book and pulled out his bookmark, focusing back on the page. But the words were nothing but a blur. He kept getting distracted by Stiles’s scent. One that brightened more and more as he talked to Scott.

One that was nearly overpowering when Lydia moved over to sit next to them.

He tried not to listen in on the conversation. He really did. But he kept catching hints of _‘And then I what?’ "Dude, you have a girlfriend?' ‘Wait, I made first-line?’ ‘I won us the game?!’_ and Derek could barely breathe. He didn’t realize he was gripping his book tight enough to bend the corners until Boyd shot him a raised eyebrowed look and then Derek slowly lowered it, trying to take deep breaths.

There was one moment that Scott was giving Stiles the tour of the house. The next, Derek was being struck by the realization of _wrong._

He was up in a second, moving through the kitchen and into the adjoining hallway. Stiles was there, standing with his back to him. Scott was at his side, stock-still, and the look he gave Derek was nothing more than panicked.

Stiles turned around slowly. And Derek’s stomach dropped.

The photograph in Stiles’s hands trembled.

“What’s this?”

“Nothing.”

Scott’s words slipped out so easily, it was like it really was nothing. But Stiles was ignoring his best friend and his eyes were fixed on where Derek stood. His amber eyes were wide and dim. Stiles’s heart was beating much too fast and his breaths were coming out in short, quick gasps.

Derek had talked him through enough panic attacks to know what was coming.

See, he’d never been the type to take pictures. Not only could Derek never get a good one with his face turned toward the camera, but they reminded him of all the photos that he was missing. Ones of his family, ones of him as a child. He didn’t like looking at himself with the reminder that he could make new memories while his own family’s were doomed to eventually be forgotten.

Derek had hated pictures since the fire. He just had.

But then Stiles had begged him for something to take to college. Derek could remember his words and his ringing laughter as he tried to catch them both in a picture. Derek had just growled, eventually pinning Stiles to the mattress and baring his teeth, only to get a soft kiss on the nose.

_“I want to see your face every day, Sourwolf. I won’t forget, I’d never forget, but I want to see it anyway. You’re beautiful, gorgeous, growly face—”_

_“If I take the picture, will you shut up?”_

_“Kiss me and we’ll see.”_

And the moment Derek did, Stiles had snapped the picture. It had been one of the first that Derek didn’t hate, other than the group photo with him and the rest of the pack. He would never admit that after Stiles printed a few off, Derek had kept one to put in every room whenever Stiles was out of town. Even if the pack totally knew. They were all smart enough to not say a word.

Stiles held one of them now, shaking in his hands. And Derek couldn’t come up with a lie. Not to those empty amber eyes.

“It’s us.”

“Why?”

Derek swallowed hard. “What did your dad tell you?”

“What did my— what the hell is that supposed to mean? Nothing, apparently! What the hell is going on? What… what are you? What are we? Is this a thing? Oh my god, I’m in your house. I’m in this photo. I’m in this photo and I don’t even know you—”

Stiles’s panic was like a series of raining blows. The photo slipped out of his hands, shattering on the floor, and Derek flinched back. Except he needed to move forward. He needed to pull Stiles into his arms just like he normally would, talking him gently through the panic attack.

But instead, it was Scott taking the boy’s shoulders and whispering comforting things. Stiles clawed at the boy’s arms, his panic _Derek’s_ fault, and all Derek could do was stumble back.

The pack was tense and alert when he stumbled back into the living room. Derek looked at Lydia and then jerked his thumb toward the hallway.

“S-Stiles needs you.”

“What?”

“He’s panicking,” Derek said, words sticking in his throat. “He needs you.”

“Derek, I’m not—”

“Lydia, please.”

She cut off and looked at him for a moment, wide-eyed. Then, nodding, she pushed herself up and hurried toward the adjoining hall, Allison close at her heels. Derek avoided the rest of his pack’s eyes, his chest hollow and his heart aching. He stared at the wall and then blinked, turning toward the door.

Isaac stood up before he could leave. “Derek?”

“Take care of Stiles.”

“Where are you going?” Erica asked, standing too. Derek just shook his head.

“I’ll be back.”

The betas looked like they were going to protest for a moment, but then Derek flashed his eyes. Three whines filled the air and he didn’t even look back at them, blindly fleeing out the door. Away from Stiles’s scent. Away from the sounds of his panic

Away from it all.

From the boy that didn’t belong to him anymore.

-

_Derek._

The name kept spinning over and over again through Stiles’s mind. The moment he’d left the Hale house, pulling himself from Lydia’s grip and shaking off Scott’s concerned looks, Stiles had driven. He figured it was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Driving again in this headspace not two days after being in the accident that had so royally fucked up his life.

_Derek._

Stiles could have screamed. What the hell was wrong with him?

The two people in the picture weren’t real. Stiles didn’t— he didn’t— He’d had a plan. Once upon a time, five years ago, he’d had a plan. 

Get Lydia Martin to know his name. Woo Lydia Martin. Date Lydia Martin. And then one day, somewhere fancy like Paris, ask Lydia Martin to marry him.

A ten-year plan. He’d had a ten-year plan. And Derek? Derek didn’t fit into that plan anywhere.

Stiles found himself on the edge of the preserve breathing heavily again. He could barely see straight, pulling over to the side of the road. If he died in a car crash, that would break his dad. Stiles wasn’t cruel enough to break his dad.

He didn’t understand what the hell was happening though.

The man had looked so terrified. So shattered when Stiles had found the photo. Like Stiles had ripped out his heart, torn it to pieces, and then shoved it back in again. He might as well have from the way Derek had fled the house.

Stiles supposed he wasn’t much better.

Finally letting loose a sound of frustration, Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face. Clawed at his hair as if that could somehow bring back the memories. The million things he seemed to be missing. Not just Derek, not just five simple years.

But the ‘best friends’ who seemed so comfortable around him. The whispered touches back over his neck and how the moment Stiles would shy away from them, the way they would look so hurt.

He kept feeling like he was doing something wrong. He was doing something so wrong.

Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face and choked on a sob.

If he’d forgotten an entire life, did he have the right to start a new one? If this wasn’t something he wanted, did he have the right to move on? Derek had been something to him. Stiles wanted to deny that but more and more, he was realizing he couldn’t.

Derek had been something to him. Scary eyebrows and murderous glares. All of it. Somewhere, someplace, in some life, Derek had meant something to him.

_“Fuck!”_

Stiles slammed his hands against the steering wheel, his frustrations boiling over. Scott didn’t tell him a single thing. Scott wouldn’t tell him a single thing. And… And what else was he missing?

What kind of life had Stiles conveniently forgotten?

His phone rang a few times and, seeing Scott’s name, Stiles ignored it. It filtered through the rest of their ‘friend group’ too but Stiles didn’t want to talk to people he didn’t even know. He stared out the window, ignoring the sound of buzzing, until he glanced over and recognized Lydia’s name.

In a second, the phone was pressed to his ear.

“Lyds?”

“Stiles, where are you?”

“I’m… out.”

“Stiles, the whole pac— everyone is freaking out. Are you okay? Can you tell us where you are so someone can come get you?”

Stiles swallowed hard, gazing out the window. “Can you come?”

“What?”

“Not Scott,” he said quietly. “Not Derek. Can you come? Lydia, can you come get me?”

“Stiles—”

“Please, Lydia.”

Silence reigned for a moment. Then, quietly, “Okay, Stiles.”

Stiles felt relief crash over him and he slowly lowered the phone. Pulling the keys out of the ignition, he gazed out at the preserve, flipping them over and over again. There was a knot in this throat that wouldn’t go away. A pit in his stomach that gradually grew bigger and bigger.

Something flashed in the trees. Stiles froze, breaths stalling, and could’ve sworn he caught sight of red eyes gazing out at him. Some dark blur that moved through the trees before it was gone.

It was gone and once more, Stiles was left in the silence.

-

Stiles sat on the hood of the car with Lydia at his side. She glanced over sometimes, red lips pursed, but Stiles never met her gaze. He kept his gaze firmly ahead, throat dry and heart thudding against his chest.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

He laughed at that, the bitter sound bubbling out of his throat. Stiles hated himself instantly for it, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Should I be?”

“The pack thinks—”

“The what?”

She abruptly closed her mouth and Stiles finally looked at her. He felt like he was flailing. Grabbing at useless straws, trying to remember a life that didn’t belong to him. Stiles wanted something to anchor him. He _needed_ something to anchor him.

“Lydia,” he said suddenly. “Kiss me.”

The girl looked at him with bright eyes. Stiles wet his lips, an itch forming underneath his skin that he couldn’t scratch. His heart plunged when she searched his face and pursed her lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Stiles, that’s not what you want.”

“Lydia, I’ve been in love with you for years _. Years._ Dammit, I’ve been in love with you since the second grade! I... I... Don’t tell me I ever abandoned that. I could never have abandoned that. Abandoned you.”

“Stiles, things change.”

“I don’t want things to change!”

Stiles shoved himself up, shoes hitting the dirt. He gestured around with panic welling in his throat, as if that would somehow help. 

“None of this is my life! Derek? Big and growly? Dammit, Lydia, I love you! Soft and fierce. I don’t want Derek. I don’t want whatever the hell all of this is. The last thing I remember, I had a plan. A set plan. And you know what was a part of it? You!”

She watched him silently. Stiles buried his face in his hands, throat constricting again. Once more, he couldn’t breathe. His head was spinning and the ache in his chest was nothing other than painful.

“One day ago, I was sixteen years old,” he said. “I had Scott, I had you, and I had my dad. And that's all I need. And I've ever needed—”

Suddenly, there were gentle fingers taking his hands and pulling them from his face. Stiles looked into concerned green eyes and Lydia smiled softly, careful fingers dancing down the side of his face. Stiles took a trembling breath and before he had the chance to stop himself, he was moving forward.

Lydia’s lips were as soft as he’d ever imagined. Stiles closed his eyes and kissed her hard, desperation leaking into his movements. And he couldn’t tell if she was kissing him back or not, or if he was just so in over his head, chest tight and heart aching, that maybe all of this was a mistake from the start to the end.

He remembered flashes of warm light. Then cool air, a soft pale hand in his own as he pulling Lydia onto the ice. _Orange and blue? Not a good combination._ Fast forward the bright lights filling the darkness overhead. Music that made the floor vibrate and a couple of hundred bodies milling together on the dance floor. _Lydia? Get off your cute little ass and dance with me now._

Then a cold night. Glowing red eyes. Howls in the darkness and Stiles was struck by such sudden terror, he yanked back and looked at her in shock. _See that's the problem. You don't care about getting hurt. But you know how I'd feel? I'd be devastated._

Lydia’s closed eyes slowly opened. Her expression was sad. Stiles shook his head and stumbled backward, a hand raising to his lips. Something dark and ugly twisted in his gut as he lowered it again.

“I didn't... oh my god. I'm sorry.”

Lydia didn’t say a word, nodding quietly. Stiles swallowed hard and turned around, trembling as he pulled himself back into the cruiser. Lydia stepped back toward her own car, one arm crossed over her chest, and watched him. Quietly, sadly. Just like the others. Just like their concerned, sympathetic stares as Stiles flailed around to get a good grip on things.

Like they were looking at a ghost.

A ten-year plan.

Stiles didn't know what he was doing anymore as he pulled back and drove away. But he was pretty sure everything that he had done was wrong. Everything that he kept doing was wrong. There was a five-year time-skip in his mind and _Stiles_ was wrong.

Stiles was a stranger in his own mind and he was doing nothing but ruining one thing after another.


	3. Chapter 3

“I feel like I lost something,” Stiles said, knees pulled into his chest while his dad sat on the end of his bed. “I feel like I can’t get it back.”

“I know, kiddo.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Stiles said. “Why?”

“You’re under a lot of pressure, Stiles,” the man said quietly. “I was going to, but I’m your father. It’s my job to take care of you. I didn’t want to add on to that burden just yet, but I should have given you some sort of warning.”

“Derek isn’t the only thing I’m missing, is he?”

His dad stayed quiet. Stiles swallowed hard and forced himself to nod.

“One thing at a time. That’s, uh, smart.”

“Did you two talk?”

“No,” Stiles murmured. He glanced over his fingers, counting them unconsciously. “I kind of freaked out, I think. I might have done something impulsive.” He laughed humorlessly. “You know me. Impulsive.”

“You’re not sixteen anymore, kiddo.”

“I know,” Stiles said, that ache returning to his chest. “I uh… there was something. Some sort of memory. That ten-year plan with Lydia didn’t exactly stay on the tracks, did it?”

“Everyone changes.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said quietly. Lydia had told him the exact same thing. Right before Stiles had come home, stumbled to the bathroom, and just looked at himself for a long moment. The feeling of regret growing in his chest as he replayed the past few hours and trembled.

The person that looked out of the mirror wasn’t him. Stiles had run a hand over his lack of a buzzcut and wondered when he’d made the decision to grow it out. He had the faintest traces of stubble and when he turned his head, he’d found the faintest sight of white lines peeking out from underneath his sweatshirt.

When he’d peeled that off, he’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach. Because there were scars across his back and scars across his chest. Marks that he didn't recognize marring his skin. And on his right shoulder blade was a coiling back tattoo. One of three spirals that Stiles didn’t recognize.

There were scars on his body, a tattoo on his skin, and when Stiles had kissed Lydia Martin, he’d seen a life where everything had changed.

“Stiles?”

He blinked out of his thoughts, looking at his dad. The man raised an eyebrow and Stiles swallowed hard, eyes burning.

“She’s my best friend, dad.”

“Ms. Martin.”

“She’s not orange and blue,” Stiles said quietly. “She never really was.”

_She never really was._

Stiles dug out his phone that night, scrolling through contacts he didn’t recognize. He went to Scott’s name, eyed the last message sent that had been almost three weeks ago, and then scrolled past it. He went to Lydia’s name and swallowed hard, scrolling past that too. 

‘Sourwolf’ was the one that caught his eye. And Stiles really should have known the conversation that he was opening up to.

_‘Star Wars is on.’_

_‘Oh, come on, asshole, you can’t tease me like that.’_

_‘Don’t text and drive.’_

_‘First of all, you texted me and second of all, I’m perfectly capable of doing both! Anyway, I’m totally only texting at stoplights.’_

_‘I can tell you’re lying.’_

_‘Whatever. You can’t hear my heartbeats through the phone.’_

_‘No, but I know you. Drive safe.’_

_‘Nuh-uh, I’m coming as fast as possible, Sourwolf. If I have to break a few speeding laws then so be it.’_

_‘You’re an idiot.’_

_‘Yeah, but I’m your idiot.’_

The messages ended then, but Stiles had a good idea of what came next. He swallowed hard, turning off his phone. And he just stared at it for a moment, the dark screen blank. Then it buzzed, a message from Lydia coming through. When he turned it back on, the background was their entire group. A dozen smiling faces; the worst-taken picture Stiles had ever seen if he was being honest. There was a handful of them, including Scott, all with glowing eyes in the light of the camera.

He traced his thumb over it all the same. Then he clicked to Lydia’s name.

_You’re still my favorite human, Stiles._

And Stiles didn’t know what that meant. But he was an idiot alright.

And so rawly human it hurt.

-

Three days passed, the house was silent, and the last thing Derek expected was for Stiles to show up on his doorstep that morning with his hands in his pockets and his gaze set on the ground. Derek opened the door slowly, watching him without a word. Stiles wet his lips before lifting his eyes. 

“Hey.”

Derek didn’t say a word. Stiles ran a hand through his hair, looking like he’d already done that a dozen times.

“So, I’ve already made a mess of things but, uh. Can we talk?”

Derek knew how easy it would be to close the door. There was something about watching from the darkness of the preserve three days ago as Stiles had reeked of desperation, Lydia’s hands touched his face, and his lips caught her own, that made him want to close the door. 

Derek still stepped back, opening it wider. Stiles smelled like nothing but nerves when he stepped over the threshold of the house.

“So,” Stiles said, a hand rubbing over his arm. Derek raised a brow. 

“So.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy said quietly. Derek’s heart twisted. There were a dozen answers on his tongue and the longer he looked at him, the more he wanted to just go back to Stiles waking up in the hospital, confusion in his eyes, and tell him everything.

Little steps. One thing at a time.

“I’d like to talk,” Stiles said. “If it’s not too late.”

“It’s not too late.”

“Really?”

 _Never._ But Derek just nodded and Stiles offered a small smile, glancing around the house. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, gesturing around. 

“Uh, you’ve got a nice place.”

“You know what happened to the Hales,” Derek said. Stiles’s face paled.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Stiles.”

“I keep doing the wrong things,” Stiles said, a smile on his face that didn’t reach his downcast eyes. “Uh, saying the wrong things. I didn’t… know. Earlier. But I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

“It’s all new.”

“But it isn't really, is it?” Stiles said, his voice cracking. “I don’t want to ruin things, Derek. I don’t want to ruin you, or these people I don’t remember. Or us.”

“Us?”

“There was an us,” Stiles said, eyes blurry as he looked up. “Wasn’t there? I’m an idiot and I don’t know why you’d ever want there to be an us, but there was. And I don’t remember it but then there was a picture that I can’t even remember and—”

“Hey,” Derek said, stepping forward. Stiles didn’t move and Derek touched his arms gently, before holding a little tighter. “It’s all new, but it’s nothing we haven’t faced before.”

“You make it sound like we’ve faced a lot of terrible things before all of this.”

Derek swallowed hard. Stiles’s eyes widened.

“Dude, really?”

“It’s complicated,” Derek said quietly. There was an entire life that Stiles didn’t know about and Derek was terrified about how much to introduce him to and what exactly should be said. He didn’t want to mess this up. But at least he didn’t seem to be the only one panicking.

“Complicated,” Stiles murmured. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

“You’re sure?”

“How do you feel about Star Wars?”

Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles attempted another small grin. Slowly, Derek shrugged. “You’ve made me watch it enough times that I’ve learned to adapt.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, his scent warming a little. “Then yeah, I’m sure.”

Derek’s chuckle felt real for the first time in days.

-

The thing about answering questions without revealing any werewolf stuff was that it was more difficult than Derek had ever expected. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t helping their situation one bit.

“So, Scott told me I made first-line.”

“First-line?”

“In lacrosse.”

Derek blinked and then nodded. He’d definitely gone to watch the two play lacrosse in passing but usually, it was because all of their lives were in danger or he was just trying to make sure no one died. Sitting across from him, a cup of coffee held between his hands, Stiles chuckled nervously.

“Uh, did you ever see a game?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly, Derek wanted to tell him about the time Stiles had skipped a game for him. When he’d finally made first-line, known it might be his only chance, and then stuck to Derek’s side anyway. That was the first time Derek had started to wonder _who the hell_ was Stiles Stilinski.

But he couldn’t say any of that, could he? Because Stiles had skipped his game to help him with Peter. And Peter had been minorly psychotic and majorly murderous at the time.

“I always thought I’d get out of Beacon Hills,” Stiles said. “Have we ever traveled?”

Derek’s first thought was Mexico. Then he nearly laughed at himself. That was one story that he’d have trouble spinning too, because who took a trip to Mexico unless it was to save a werewolf from being buried in an Aztec temple by their crazy werejaguar ex?

“Not exactly.”

Stiles’s face fell. Looking down at his coffee, he nodded.

“But I’ve visited you a few times in Washington,” Derek tried helpfully. Then he remembered something involving a manhunt, a shot toe, and he swallowed hard. “After your FBI internship.”

“Woah, dude, I had an internship?”

“It was a… fun summer.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, licking his lips. “And how did we meet?”

Derek’s heart twisted. It had been three days after Stiles’s memory was shot and if the boy had just remembered a little bit more—

“Derek?”

“You were trespassing.”

Stiles’s eyes widened and Derek instantly cursed himself. He hadn't meant for it to come out like that. 

“But I wasn’t angry. Not about that, at least.”

“That’s uh, good to hear.”

There were a million things Derek thought he could say. Yeah, he'd hated the idiot a little bit at first. Yeah, things hadn’t been easy from the start. Derek could recall a million times that he’d been so ready to just get up and leave. The times that he’d sat at Stiles’s window, or hospital bed, or in the passenger seat of his car and just debated if he was making a mistake or not.

If everything that ever happened to them was his fault.

But he could also tell Stiles about the millions of times that the idiot had never turned away. From swimming pools, to kanimas, to witches, warlocks, and whatever Monster of the Week came to town. Derek had never had an anchor other than anger until Stiles came along.

And now he was terrified to let that go.

He didn’t get a word out though, before the front door was opening and the three betas were stumbling inside. They instantly all went still and Erica’s eyes snapped from Derek, to Stiles, and then back with a small smile creeping across her lips.

Stiles had gone stock-still though. His knuckles turned white around his mug.

“Stiles—”

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, turning to look at him. “Um, I should go.”

“You don’t have to.”

The boy’s eyes softened and he glanced back at the others who were shifting nervously now. He leaned forward, setting down his cup, and slowly stood. “I should. But I can come by tomorrow. I mean, only if you want me to.”

“Yes.”

Stiles’s eyes flickered. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said softly, gathering up his keys and giving Derek a last glance. He looked like he was going to say something else for a moment but then he just nodded and moved toward the door, eyes flitting over the others before he slipped around them.

Derek could smell their faint disappointment. But right now, he was more concentrated on the warmth of Stiles’s scent. And the small bright light that had been growing in his eyes. 

Because this time, Derek had been the one to put it there.

**Author's Note:**

> It's two in the morning and apparently that means I'm bound to write some angst. But I've been wanting to write a Sterek 'The Vow' au! And for the first time, I have something moderately planned out. Of course, I'd love to hear what you guys thought!
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr?
> 
> [the dumpster](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Or on my favorite Sterek discord!
> 
> [not a dumpster](https://discord.gg/78RjqwY)


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